


Washing up

by Account_Created



Category: Lockwood & Co. - Jonathan Stroud
Genre: Cute, Dancing, Domestic, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-22
Updated: 2020-02-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:08:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22852282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Account_Created/pseuds/Account_Created
Summary: I'm a sucker for domestic fluff but y'know who isn't
Relationships: Lucy Carlyle & George Cubbins & Anthony Lockwood, Lucy Carlyle/Anthony Lockwood
Comments: 10
Kudos: 70





	Washing up

Since George was still recovering from our Fittes misadventure two weeks after it happened, Lockwood and I volunteered to do the washing up after dinner. George thanked us and went to sit in the library, and Lockwood turned on the clunky old radio on the windowsill. Soft music played over the sounds of assorted crockery and silverware being washed. 

It was… nice, being there with Lockwood. His sleeves were rolled up to keep them dry, and we were close enough that I could hear him humming along to the song. I wondered what he was thinking about, if it was much of anything. We were just doing dishes, after all.

The song ended and a new one began, a more upbeat-sounding one. My toes began to tap to the rhythm almost at once. 

Lockwood up from the plate he’d been rising. “Dance with me.” he said. 

“Pardon?” I replied, looking up, and Lockwood extended his sudsy hands to me. 

“Dance with me, Lucy.” he said, and the million-watt grin on his face was so infectious I couldn’t refuse. I turned off the faucet and took his hands and then we were dancing, stepping in time with the beat and giggling like children. We moved closer to the radio and Lockwood turned it up, making it easier to keep time. 

We stepped in and out, round the table in some imitation of a swing dance. Lockwood alternated between looking at our feet with utmost concentration and beaming at me when I laughed. When the chorus ended he spun me out and back in, holding me close with a hand on my back. I found my hand naturally at his collarbone, fingering his collar with absent interest. It was a bold move, and at any other time I would’ve stopped immediately, but there was something about the easy way he held me against him, and the gentle clasp of my other hand in his, still damp from the faucet, that made it feel right.

The song slowed down. We were less dancing now, more swaying, and the radio pumped a slow, quiet song over us. And, maybe because I was just tired, maybe because I’d wanted to do it for ages, I pressed my cheek to his chest and closed my eyes, happy to remain there forever.

I heard him let out a happy hum, and he pressed his cheek to the top of my head. We were barely moving at all now, just swaying slowly in small circles. I wasn’t even listening to the song, just Lockwood’s heartbeat in my ear. 

“Doesn’t look like much washing up is being done.” 

My eyes shot open. George was standing in the doorway, a little flushed from the effort of walking there, and smirking up a storm. 

“George.” Lockwood groaned, releasing me. Reluctant as I was to let go, I did, and came forward to punch George. Gently, though, as most of his left side was still bruised and sore.

“You’re not supposed to be walking around.” I told him, steering him back toward the library. 

“The water’d been turned off, but you two were still in the kitchen.” He gave a one-armed shrug. “I got curious.” 

“That has very nearly been your downfall on several occasions.” said Lockwood stormily, following us down the hall. 

George nodded. “That’s fair. Can hardly blame me though, eh?” 

“I most certainly can.” sniffed Lockwood, helping George sit down on the couch. “Mind your own business from now on, George.” 

“Fat chance, Lockwood.” George laughed and winked atrociously at me. 

I wanted to cuff the back of his head, but as the bandages there had only been removed yesterday, I refrained. Instead I threw a magazine at him and dragged Lockwood from the room, turning the radio back down and returning to the dishes. 

Lockwood joined me, bumping my hip playfully with his own and grinning at me when I snorted. 

Soon enough the washing up actually was done and we were drying our hands on the ratty dishtowel Holly had been begging to replace for months. (We weren’t going to. It was one of the few things that had survived the ransacking of the house. It had sentimental value.) Lockwood used it after me and hung it back on the oven handle, pausing with his hand lingering on it. 

“Lockwood?” I asked. 

He seemed to shake himself and looked over at me with a small grin. 

“I really like you, Luce, I have I told you that?” he said.  
I smiled. “Not as such, but you have now.” 

“I should tell you more often.” Was he leaning closer, or was that me? Either way, I wasn’t complaining. I wondered if I’d be able to interpret the look he was giving me better if I was closer. 

“I wouldn’t mind that.” I was practically standing on his toes now. “And for the record, Lockwood, I really like you too.” 

His gaze searched my face, as if memorizing its every contour. I could feel myself reddening under the scrutiny, but I couldn’t find it within myself to complain. My hand drifted forwards, resting on his shirtfront. His hand found itself at my hip, sliding over it like it was meant to be there. 

“Thanks.” he breathed, and then his lips were on mine. Fireworks exploded behind my eyes. 

He held the contact for several moments before pulling away. I rocked forward into him, eyelids fluttering, and he laughed. For that, I took his collar in my hands and kissed him again. He positively melted against me, and I smirked against his lips. He must’ve felt it, because he broke away, laughing. 

“Had to make it even, didn’t you?” he teased. 

“Always.” I told him, standing on tiptoe to kiss his forehead. “You like that about me.”

“I absolutely do.” Lockwood said, leaning down to kiss me again. 

“What are you two doing?” George shouted from the other room. “Do I need to come in there again?” 

Lockwood ducked away, swearing under his breath, and I had to laugh. “You jealous, George?” I shouted back. 

“Certainly not!” George said. “I’ll bet Lockwood is a rubbish kisser!” 

“A rubbish kisser?” Lockwood demanded, releasing me. I laughed as he took long-legged strides to the library, yelling at George the whole way down.

**Author's Note:**

> They beans and I love them


End file.
